


Four Seasons in One Day

by Sihaya Black (beledibabe)



Category: due South
Genre: DS, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-15
Updated: 2005-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beledibabe/pseuds/Sihaya%20Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A little due South birthday schmoop for twistedchick. Many thanks to kassrachel for the quick beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Four Seasons in One Day

**Author's Note:**

> A little due South birthday schmoop for twistedchick. Many thanks to kassrachel for the quick beta.

**-Fall-**

 

_Clickclickclick._

Hearing the insistent tap of heels behind him, Constable Benton Fraser, scourge of the lawless, bane of criminals, defender of the weak and helpless, increases his stride. The skin between his shoulder blades prickles, and a trickle of sweat inches its way down his ribs.

“Fraser!” Francesca’s voice echoes down the station house corridor.

Busted, as Ray would say. Stifling his sigh, Benton turns and waits. She approaches, hips swaying smoothly, arms full, and smiles up at him. “Hey, Fraser. Here are the files Ray wanted.”

“Thank you kindly, Francesca.”

He accepts the folders, then backs away two steps, wielding them like a manila shield. She looks at him, eyes wide, lips moist, her yearning so palpable that he feels it, damp and slightly sticky on his skin. He wants to wash it off, or pull out his handkerchief and scrub the clean cotton over his face. But that would be rude, and the best he can do is play blind and deaf to her desperation. Before he can add mute to the list, someone calls her name, and she turns.

He makes a break for the squad room, trying not to run. Francesca isn’t at fault because he can’t respond as she wishes. No, the fault, if fault there be, is his. She’s offering him romance and roses and delicate, feminine things, yet his own traitorous heart turns up its metaphorical nose at them, replacing them with visions of long bones and hard muscles, and he really must nip these thoughts in the bud. Benton rounds the corner and breathes a little easier when he sees Ray sitting behind his desk, phone to his ear.

“Hang on, hang on.” Ray traps the phone between his shoulder and chin and shuffles through the papers arranged in vague piles on the desktop. He pinches his first two fingers against his thumb: a clear signal to those who watch him carefully and understand him.

Benton does both.

Locating a pen beneath a stack of pink telephone messages, he slips it into Ray’s hand. Ray raises an eyebrow and rewards him with a quick grin, then hunches over and scribbles on the back of an expense statement.

This position bares the back of his neck, and Benton can’t tear his eyes from the display of vulnerable tendons, tender, pale skin, and the small knob where spine meets shoulder girdle. Tiny hairs at Ray’s nape catch the light, softly gold, and top of his ear describes a delicate arch, the pink curve fading into alabaster at the base. Benton’s fingers itch with the need to trace that bow, and he wants nothing more than to feel the change in texture as his fingertips brush over the line where hair gives way to flesh. He wets his lips.

More thoughts to strangle, half-born.

“Fraser? You with me?”

He blinks. Dear Lord, is he woolgathering in public? “Yes, Ray.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ray grins and stands, grabbing his jacket. “Then tell me what I just said.”

“You...” Oh, dear. He hasn’t the faintest idea. But Ray’s slipping on his jacket... “Instead of wasting time on irrelevancies, hadn’t we better be going?”

Ray’s grin widens. “You can’t fool me, Frase.”

He dearly hopes he can fool Ray. If the Universe were a kind and just place, he would fool himself, as well. But the Universe, as he well knows, is singularly uninterested in what he wants. That is a lesson Benton learned early in his life.

He can’t say any of this to Ray, so he simply holds out the file folders. “Francesca asked me to give these to you.”

“Oh?” Ray takes them and flips open the top folder. “Oh, right. Good. These’ll keep.” He drops them in the middle of his desk. “C’mon. I’ll clue you in on the way.”

Stifling a sigh, Benton follows Ray out the door. Unfortunately, he’s already clued in – uncomfortably so – to his attraction to Ray. At least Ray is unaware of this, and as far as Benton’s concerned, Ray will continue to remain in the dark.

How difficult can it be?

 

 

**-Winter-**

 

Ray stays two steps ahead of him, long legs eating up the length of corridor. Benton’s not happy to be here; well, that’s not strictly true. He’s happy to be with Ray at any time, but now... Ray stops abruptly. Avoiding a collision by the narrowest of margins, Benton sidesteps and turns.

But Ray isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at an open door, the door, their goal. Benton opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Ray gives himself a shake and lifts his chin.

“Right,” he mutters, and strides through the doorway.

Benton follows.

ASA Stella Kowalski sits behind a desk that, while nominally neater than Ray’s, is similarly covered with piles of paper. She puts down the sheet she has been reading and places her hand flat on the page, as if to prevent it escaping. Her hair is neatly coiffed, her ivory suit fits her well, but Benton sees dark smudges beneath her eyes, and the corners of her mouth droop briefly before lifting in an unconvincing smile.

“Ray. Constable Fraser. Thanks for stopping by.”

She doesn’t stand or hold out her hand. Ray shoots her a sharp glance, then sinks into the chair nearest her desk. Benton waits until ASA Kowalski nods toward the other chair, but he only perches on the edge. “Comfortable” is not a word he would use to describe how he feels when she’s around.

Ray tilts his head. “You look tired, Stell.”

She frowns, and Benton suddenly knows how she’ll look in twenty years – still a beautiful woman, but with character. It must be obvious to Ray.

“It’s this damned de Salvo case,” she says, thumping the paper on her desk. “The guy’s slipperier than an eel, and as crafty as a fox.”

Sitting back, Ray nods. “Yeah. But no one else’s taken him this far. You’re doing a good job.”

Her smile this time is genuine. “Thanks.”

“So, what’s the problem? You sounded kind of upset earlier.”

Benton has never seen ASA Kowalski blush, but the colour that suddenly tints her cheeks has nothing to do with the application of makeup or a change in the room’s lighting. She taps her index finger twice on the desktop, then folds her hands and leans forward. “I need you to do me a favour, Ray. Constable Fraser, too.”

A favour? He looks at Ray, who’s studying ASA Kowalski with an intensity that’s quite... discomfiting.

“Any time, Stella,” says Ray. “You know that. What do you need?”

“Before you say anything, let me finish. Okay?” She waits until Ray nods once, sharply. Her blush deepens, and she drops her gaze to the desk. “It’s nothing specific, so I don’t want to go through official channels. I just can’t shake the feeling that Joey de Salvo would love to get me alone on the street. Once I’m at my condo I’m fine – security’s been beefed up since the last time you visited.”

Benton vividly remembers the last time he and Ray visited ASA Kowalski’s condo. He remembers being met at the door by a flustered Ray, remembers the jagged shards of hope in Ray’s eyes whenever he looked at her, remembers the way Ray left afterward, his heart battered. Almost as battered as Benton’s.

She’s still talking. “Two guys on my team are picking me up tomorrow morning, but I wondered... Would you escort me home tonight?”

Benton’s mouth dries, but she is, after all, a damsel in distress. The answer is inevitable.

“You got it.” Ray stands and looks down at her. “You need anything else?”

When she raises her head, he’s taken aback – no, honestly surprised – at the gratitude writ plain on her face. What did he expect? More coldness at Ray’s offer?

Well, yes. And worse, he hoped for it. For Ray’s sake, as well as his own.

“This is enough.” She holds Ray’s eyes for a long moment, then looks away with a little sigh. “Let me get my papers together.”

Standing, Benton takes a step toward Ray. He can’t see Ray’s face, but the set of his shoulders, the position of his hands, even the cant of his hips speaks eloquently of Ray’s state of mind. Ray still loves her, Stella, his ex-wife. Ray still wants her.

And Benton’s fate is to stand to one side and watch.

She does not keep them waiting long, and they travel in Ray’s car, Benton in the back, of course. He doesn’t look at them, sitting side by side, nor take part in their sporadic conversation; his job is to canvass their surroundings for anything suspicious. He will do his duty.

Ray takes a circuitous route to ASA Kowalski’s condo. To throw off pursuit? To extend his time with her? Perhaps a little of both. Benton hesitates to say.

Another turn, and the building looms ahead. With any luck, they can deposit her in her flat and be on their way in a quarter hour.

As Ray turns into the drive, a flash at the corner of his eye...

“Ray! Across the street—”

“Shit!” But Ray’s thrown the GTO into reverse: a white van blocks the drive, and two men appear, running toward them. Benton’s sure Ray hasn’t seen the man on the street corner, however.

“Down!” Benton pushes ASA Kowalski forward, below the dash, ignoring her protest, and scrambles over the seat and out the door, briefly wishing as he tumbles to the pavement and rolls to his feet that Ray and his father had restored a four door, instead of the GTO.

The next fifteen minutes are somewhat frantic, and Benton doesn’t have time to think about what he’s doing until all four suspects (the fourth was hiding behind a row of bushes) are restrained on the sidewalk, awaiting transport and processing.

He slumps against the retaining wall and wipes the sweat from his eyes; his fingers come away tipped with blood. Ah. The reason for the ache in his temple. His injuries aren’t terrible – several bruises and a cut on his other hand – but he’d like to brush the grit from his trousers and tunic, and wash his wounds. Other considerations take priority, however, such as dealing with their prisoners and ensuring ASA Kowalski’s continued safety.

Benton hasn’t seen her since he spotted Ray hurrying her into the building while he disarmed two of the assailants. Ray had reappeared, bespectacled and wielding his gun, enabling the quick capture of the final two, and then making a phone call requesting backup. But he doesn’t see Ray now.

Of course Ray’s concerned about her, wants to ensure her safety and well being. To think otherwise would fly in the face of all the evidence.

And yet, Benton wishes...

Nothing. He can wish nothing.

He straightens, adjusting his tunic. The squad cars should be here soon, and it is his duty to—

“Hey, Fraser.” Ray lopes down the pavement, then stops and snarls at one of their prisoners for daring to shift to one side. When he turns back to Benton, he frowns. “That’s some bump you’ve got on your noggin.”

“It’s nothing, Ray. Just a small contusion and edema. I have some—”

“Stinky stuff to put on it, yeah, I know.” Ray winks and steps closer, nudging him with one shoulder. “Here come the uniforms. Before we haul these assholes back to the station, Stella wants to say thanks.”

ASA Kowalski thanks them both, even showing concern over Benton’s visible injuries. Ray smiles at her as she’s talking to Benton, as if he’s pleased. Of course he’d be pleased to see the woman he loves and his partner behaving in a civilized fashion. Benton exerts himself, trying to return some of her unexpected warmth. For Ray’s sake.

As they walk to the door, she follows, lays her hand on Ray’s sleeve. “Thank you again, Ray. Don’t forget to stop by—”

“Yeah, I’ll remember.” He rests his hand over hers for a moment. “Catch you later, Stella.”

Benton stares straight ahead, pretending he can’t hear them.

The evening passes in a blur of statements, questions, and forms. By the time Ray leans back in his chair and stretches his arms over his head, Benton’s head aches, his bruises throb no matter how he sits, and he’s ready to return to the Consulate, to Dief and to his narrow cot.

 

**-Spring-**

 

“Thank you for the ride, Ray.” He opens the car door, determined not to groan. His muscles have stiffened during the trip, and he surreptitiously grabs the door frame to help haul himself out. A catch of breath escapes tight lips, however. Perhaps it was inaudible...

“Fraser?”

He doesn’t answer until he’s completely out of the car, then turns and bends forward. Another catch, this time almost a gasp. Yet another as he straightens. His face warms; he is ashamed of his weakness. “Yes, Ray?”

But Ray has already turned off the engine and exited the car, joining him on the pavement. It’s difficult to see Ray’s face in the indifferent light from the streetlamps, but his stance betrays his emotions.

“This is stupid, Fraser.” Anger roughens Ray’s voice. “You can hardly walk. How’re you going to get stinky stuff on your forehead when you can’t raise your arm?”

“I am perfectly capable—” He’s talking to Ray’s back. “Ray?”

“Stay there. I’m getting the wolf.” Ray stops on the top step of the Consulate and glances over his shoulder. “Anything else you need?” He squats by the door.

“Ray, you can’t. ASA Kowalski is expecting you.”

A click. “What?” Ray opens the door and disappears inside. “Dief? Hey, lazybones, up and at ‘em, you’re staying at my place...”

Only when Ray is out of sight and the street empty does Benton allow his shoulders to slump. He should follow Ray and prevent him from rousing Dief. He should remind Ray of his appointment with ASA Kowalski. He should...

Dief bounds down the steps, Ray on his heels. “I got your long johns and toothbrush,” says Ray as he opens the door, tosses the bundle in, and flips the seat forward. Dief sniffs Benton’s trouser leg, then sneezes and leaps into the car.

Ray flips the seat back and turns. “Okay, now you.” He reaches out, his hand suspended in the air.

Benton wants to step forward, let Ray touch him, even if only for a moment, but he clears his throat. “Ray, you’ve forgotten your... date with ASA Kowalski.”

Ray tilts his head to one side. “My _date_? With Stella?” He snorts. “You really _did_ get conked on the head – you’re hallucinating.”

“But you said that you would stop by and see her later.”

“Yeah, like next week or something. Whenever I see her at work.” Ray shifts and waves his outstretched hand. “In case you didn’t notice, me and Stella are divorced.”

“Of course I—”

“_Fra_ser. Just get in the damned car.”

“But you—”

“Listen. I’ll say this once. We’re partners. A guy looks after his partner, right?” His expression clouds; Benton suspects he’s remembering a particular incident when that wasn’t the case. “Stella’s fine, but you? You are not fine.”

“Ray, I am perfectly—”

“You can hardly get out of the car, Fraser. You are the opposite of fine. You’re the anti-fine. You’re so far from fine you’re not even in the same country. So I’ve gotta look after you. Got it?”

Ray’s hand is there before him, long fingers curved slightly, waiting for him to take it. Benton reaches out, clasps it, the contact setting his blood racing. Ray’s hand is warm and dry. Strong, far stronger than most people realize, as is Ray. But Benton knows Ray’s strength, relies on it, even when Ray doubts it, doubts himself.

And Ray’s words loosen the tightness in his chest in a way no embrocation can.

“Understood.”

With Ray’s help, he folds himself back into the seat, biting back several swear words that would shock Ray if he heard them coming from Benton’s mouth. He’s tired, emotionally and physically. Exhausted.

Before they turn the corner, Benton’s head tips back and his eyes flutter shut.

 

Warmth. Dampness. A familiar snuffle at his ear.

“C’mon, Fraser.” Ray’s voice, gentle and amused. “Wakey, wakey.”

Benton’s eyes fly open and he jerks forward, only to wince at the pain. “Ray?”

“Easy, now.”

With Ray’s help, he eventually stands on the street, blinking the sleep from his eyes and swaying slightly. Ray guides him with an arm around his shoulders.

“Okay, almost there.”

When the door opens, Benton heads for the couch, but Ray nudges him toward the hall. “Uh uh. Shower first, buddy. Loosen up those muscles, clean those cuts. I got the feeling that once you’re down, you won’t be getting up again soon.”

Ah. Good idea.

When Ray stands in the bathroom door and asks “You need any help?” Benton wants to say yes; yes to so many things. But that’s not the answer required.

“No, thank you, Ray.” He begins to unbuckle his Sam Browne, fighting to keep the pain from showing on his face. “I’ll be fine.”

Ray shakes his head. “What’d I say about fine?” He steps forward and takes over.

Although he knows he shouldn’t, Benton allows it.

Ray stops when he reaches Benton’s boxers. “I guess you can take it from here, right?”

Benton nods. Fortunately, his automatic reaction to Ray’s swift ministrations is largely suppressed by his exhaustion. The past several minutes would have been unbearable, otherwise.

“Get the water really hot. That’ll help.” Ray gathers all the pieces of the uniform in his arms and steps into the hall.

The hot water does help, and after a vigorous scrub, focusing on his cuts and scrapes, Benton indulges himself by standing in the scalding spray long enough for the soreness to subside to tolerable levels. Ray has left a clean towel on the toilet, along with Benton’s long johns. And his toothbrush hangs in the holder, beside Ray’s.

He swallows hard at the sight.

Donning his union suit is relatively easy after his shower. Benton takes a moment to brush his teeth, and borrows Ray’s comb to smooth his hair before returning to the living room and the couch that will be his bed.

Except that Ray’s already stretched out across the cushions, a pillow tucked under his head. Comfortable in tee-shirt and sweatpants. He’s not asleep; he smiles and sits up as Benton enters. “I found your stinky stuff.” He holds the little jar of unguent Benton keeps in his uniform belt.

With a nod, Benton reaches for the jar, his fingers brushing Ray’s. Heat, then cold, travel up his arm, lodge in his chest. He feels exposed, all raw nerves tonight; he can’t suppress his slight shiver at the touch.

Ray’s smile dims and his brows draw together. Observing. Assessing.

Benton can’t allow that.

“Thank you, Ray.” He snatches the jar from Ray and turns toward the bathroom.

“Hey!”

Ray’s behind him, pressing against his back and arm, reaching around him for the jar. Benton freezes, conscious of Ray’s warmth, the pressure of his chest and arm, the tickle of his breath on Benton’s neck. Time stops, save for Ray’s quick breathing and the heavy thud of Benton’s heart.

 

 

**-Summer-**

 

“Fraser?”

Ray’s hesitant, uncertain voice. The one Benton’s only heard him use around Stella.

He clears his throat, but his “Yes, Ray?” still cracks mid-word, revealing far more than he ever wanted. Ray is too intelligent and far too good a detective not to understand. Benton hangs his head.

Ray lets out a deep breath, plucks the jar from Benton’s nerveless fingers, and steps back. Benton dreads the resultant cold – more a familiar absence of warmth – but he does, after all, expect it. Without conscious thought, Benton squares his shoulders, lifts his head; prepares for the worst.

Instead, Ray pokes his shoulder, prodding him forward. “C’mon. Let’s get this stuff on you so you can sleep.”

When he turns right, toward the bath, Ray takes his shoulder and pushes him into the bedroom. Ray’s bedroom. Benton looks at the bed, enormous compared to his own modest cot, and hesitates.

“Go on.” Ray turns on a bedside lamp and gestures to the bed. “Sit down.”

Benton gingerly sits on the edge.

Ray stares at him for a moment, eyes shadowed by the light. Then he nods, as if to himself, and kneels at Benton’s feet.

Benton’s so shocked he can hardly breathe.

Kneeling up and pushing forward, Ray forces Benton’s knees apart. Benton gapes. His penis, blessedly unresponsive earlier, has apparently decided that a shower, a bed, and Ray’s close proximity deserve an enthusiastic response. There’s no way to hide the growing bulge that tents the red fabric.

He can’t look at Ray. He can’t not look at Ray. When their eyes meet, one corner of Ray’s mouth lifts and he winks.

“First things first.” Then he mutters something about putting someone’s eye out, but Benton’s not certain he hear correctly, and even if he did, he doesn’t want to ask, because Ray crooks his finger under Benton’s chin and turns his face to the light.

“Hold still.”

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Ray scoops up a little of the unguent and carefully spreads it on the cut on Benton’s forehead. Benton opens his mouth to remind Ray that he should apply it with a cotton swab, but the tip of Ray’s tongue peeks out from between his lips, moist and pink and Benton wonders what it would be like to kiss Ray.

His penis twitches, and a damp spot appears between Benton’s wide-spread legs.

Ray groans.

He’s staring at Benton’s groin.

Benton swallows, staring at Ray, staring at _him_. “Ray?” is all he can manage before Ray drops the jar and leans forward, fitting his mouth around the tip of Benton’s fabric-covered penis and just _breathing_.

This time it’s Benton’s turn to groan.

Ray interprets that as a sign of encouragement – correctly, as it happens – and he simultaneously releases Benton’s penis, pushes Benton back onto the bed, and slides up until they are face to face.

And Benton no longer wonders what it would be like to kiss Ray.

Ray kisses with his usual energy and focus, along with a technique that threatens to turn Benton inside out. His exhaustion evaporates, his aches disappear as Ray shifts over him, and he wraps one arm around Ray’s ribs, sliding his other hand down, down, beneath the fleecy fabric of Ray’s sweatpants, until he cups Ray’s backside. Ray presses back against his hand, then pushes forward, rubbing against Benton’s achingly hard penis.

Benton spreads his legs wider, taking full advantage of Ray’s weight and blatant wriggles. He can’t, simply can’t, move his hand on Ray’s posterior – he’s never felt anything as wildly erotic as Ray’s flexing buttock – but his other hand drifts up to caress Ray’s neck and cheek and ear.

With a gasp, Ray lifts his head and blinks muzzily at Benton. “Holy shit, Frase,” he pants. “You got gills or something?”

But then Ray lowers his head and kisses Benton again, kisses him hard and wet and nasty, all questing tongue and sliding lips and it’s all Benton can do to hold on, hold on to himself and to Ray’s head and to Ray’s rear, because he knows – knows with a rock solid assurance – what he wants, what he _needs_, and that image, the thought of Ray, hard and slick and dark-eyed with want, sliding into him, splitting him open, causes him to arch his back, his penis pulsing as he ejaculates.

Ray’s shout is muffled by their kiss as he stiffens in Benton’s clasp, and his own warmth is added to the spot between them.

Groaning, Ray breaks their kiss and rolls to one side, flinging his arm out to rest on Benton’s damp belly. They lay quietly for a few moments, until Ray turns his head and looks at Benton.

“You ever plan on telling me?”

Benton feels the spread of endorphins, bubbling along his limbs. His exhaustion returns, ringing like a gong. He closes his eyes.

“No.”

“Why not?”

He turns his head, meets Ray’s challenging gaze. “I thought you and Stella would settle your differences and get back together.”

Ray looks thoughtful. “Yeah. Okay. I get that.” His hand slips down and presses against Benton’s spent and soft penis. “It ain’t gonna happen, though. Stella knows that. I know that. How about you, Frase? You know that? That Stella and me, we’re finished? Kaputski?”

He nods, just once. He wants to believe it, if he dares.

“’Cause you and me,” continues Ray, “we could be good. Great, even.” He pauses. “If you want.”

God knows, he wants.

“Yes, Ray.” The words are difficult to shape, difficult to say, but he forces himself. “I want.”

“Good.”

A brush of lips over his forehead, and then Ray’s moving, moving him, up the bed and under the covers. He doesn’t mind the mess on his stomach, even though it will itch by morning. Benton turns on his side and lets out a soft huff of air as Ray presses against his back, wrapping an arm around his chest and pulling him close.

He’s sinking into the mattress, cocooned by blankets and Ray, when Ray breathes into his ear.

“How’re you doing?”

A slurred “’m fine,” is all he can manage.

“Yeah. You’re fine.” Ray sounds pleased.

Benton relaxes into sleep.


End file.
